


Homecoming

by serenityandroses



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Compliant, F/M, One Shot, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityandroses/pseuds/serenityandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Growing Back Together weekend on tumblr. A one shot (ficlet?) with the prompt of primroses. This focuses on Peeta's return to District Twelve and why he went back in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This could be a little rough, because it was written fairly quickly. But regardless of the grammar errors, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Homecoming

By: serenityandroses

Dr. Aurelius once asked me what made a home.

I didn’t understand the question. And quite frankly, at the time I didn’t really care about what it meant. 

He had a reason for asking, early on in my initial healing process. Before the parachute bombs. Before the Star Squad. While I still thought Katniss was a mutt, he was at my bed, asking me what I thought made a home. But the idea of home would always send me reeling. Always to the hate forced into my heart by the Capitol.  
 Always to blaming her. 

Home at the time was something that was painful to me. Even before the death of my family, home usually came with pain and doubt. Therapy showed that years of abuse from my mother made me primed for hijacking. She told me, repeatedly, that I would never be good enough. She’d hit me, and shove me against the stoves to cause minor burns, all the while reinforcing that I was a waste of space. 

All my life, it was easy to think that she was right. 

Even with my father’s gentle care, I still believed a lot of what she said. 

Hell, I still do. 

But that hate, that doubt, was my undoing. Snow knew that my mother was abusive. He used several of the same techniques in the beginning. The burns. Bringing in woman to laugh at me, stripping me down to nothing and making me feel foolish. Even though, as far as I knew, he had never seen my mother’s actions, the man knew just how to break me.

With tracker jacker venom, he showed altered videos of Katniss, watering the seed that was always in the back of my mind. And once it started growing, he brought in woman who looked like her. And their words soon became hers. Katniss Everdeen has rarely said anything that would make me feel worthless. And yet, those fake words were the only ones I could remember. 

How could I even put words to what home was when all I saw was hate?

It was a dangerous question to ask me. Delly once asked a similar question, later on. But still, I wasn’t able to understand the reasoning behind the question. My answer wasn’t violent, but it was angry. I blamed Katniss and Gale, as if the two had planned the bombing themselves. For a long time, home was a myth. 

I could barely remember the quiet moments with Katniss when she broke her heel. The time spent on the couch, working on her family plant book. The way our hands seemed to lock at the dinner table without meaning to. How I’d catch her eyes, staring at me while I was drawing or baking. Plucking cheese buns off the hot tray before they were cooled. Carrying her up to bed at the end of the day. Our engagement might have been forced, but it was in those moments, it was refreshing to know that it wouldn’t be horrible. 

That maybe, someday, she could love me. 

No, those moments that so vividly screamed home to me were a blur, tainted by the Capitol in a way only they could. 

While healing from my severe burns, Dr. Aurelius asked me why I saved her life. If I really wanted her dead, I would have let the fires of the bombs kill her. But I didn’t. I used my own body to put out the flames, pulling off the heavy cloak Tigris put on her shoulders as disguise. I then ran into the burning rubble to try and find Prim. If, he reasoned, I wanted her dead, what drove me to do what I did?

My instincts to protect her. To protect what matters to her. 

But the pain of the burns, fresh and healing, sent me into a downward spiral. More days spent battling my demons before I was forced to vote on another Games. And again, when Katniss tried to take her own life with the Nightlock pill, I stopped her. 

I would carry a scar of her teeth on my hand until I died. 

Still, I stayed in the Capitol. Broken, unable to grasp onto any sort of reality. Nothing in my life was stable. My hand shook too badly to try and paint, and my skin was so burned that I could barely wear clothing. But people never gave up on me. Haymitch had the unaltered videos from our Games, sitting by my side while we played Real or Not Real afterwards. Mrs. Everdeen, before she left for her new life, sat with me and told me stories of my father, of a man I never wanted to forget. 

I think that was the most helpful. 

Because where Snow played into the abuse, Mrs. Everdeen was able to remind me that my life in Twelve wasn’t always horrible. Sure, it wasn’t normal. It was abusive and no child should have to deal with it. But it had good memories. It contained hundreds of moments that I didn’t want to forget. 

So the next time Dr. Aurelius asked me what I thought home was, I told him it was Twelve. When he asked why, I told him the honest answer I had— it was the one place I can remember being myself. 

In every other District, I was someone else. I was the person the Capitol wanted me to be. I was the painted doll they needed me to be. And I was the partner that Katniss needed to survive it all. 

But in Twelve, I had been me. The shy boy who couldn’t talk to a girl he loved. The baker who burned bread to toss it to a dying girl in the rain. The tribute who cried when his father pressed a cookie into his hand. The victor who stood besides Gale to put an end to his beating. Everything that happened in Twelve was who I really was. And I could run from my past, but I wouldn’t heal if I didn’t go home and deal with my demons there.  
The only way he would let me go home was if I started painting again. So I did it the same I did before the war. I’d wake up after a nightmare, unable to tell what my mind was creating and I’d paint the truth. It was good therapy, forcing my mind to accept that there would be things that would confuse me, and that would cause me pain. But that I could still paint, and do things that I enjoyed before the Quell. 

It was a month later when I found myself on the train home. 

Haymitch was waiting for me at the station, to make sure that I wasn’t going to lose my mind once I saw it for myself. 

I vaguely remember seeing the damage while in the Capitol. But seeing it in person was ten times worse. 

Nothing survived. 

Not the Mayor’s house. Not the square, with its whipping post and stocks. Not the merchant’s houses. 

And most certainly not the bakery. 

Haymitch barely got me home before another episode ripped through me. Locking me in my house, letting me work out my pain in a private way. But it wasn’t enough. The Capitol had taken everything from me. My family. My personality. My leg. My love. All that was left was the house they’ve given me after winning the Games. It was the last place I wanted to be in the middle of my rage. 

But waking up in the familiar room the next day was comforting. The house smelled like fresh bread, even though a loaf hadn’t been made here in months. I needed to do something, anything. My first intuition was to bake, but the kitchen wouldn’t be stocked until tomorrow. Antsy to do something, I took off into the woods. Rare for me, but it felt like the only safe place to go at the time. I didn’t have memories there, so I wouldn’t end up a mutt like the day before. 

I didn’t recognize any of the plants at first. Spring had brought the forest to life, blossoms covering the ground. It wasn’t until I came across a small bush that I recognized something from the plant book, something that I painted a lifetime ago. 

Primrose. 

They have dozens of medicinal purposes, which seems all too fitting for the little girl who wanted to be a doctor. They cover the floor of the woods, as if to remind me that even this can regrow. The heat of the bombs should have destroyed the plants, but they survived. My knees gave out from underneath me, and the sobs that escape my lips are loud. 

Because here it feels safe to mourn my family, to mourn the pretty little girl who started this whole thing. I don’t know how long I stay there, but the wind whispers to me. And I know what I have to do. 

I borrow a small wagon from Thom, who’s returned to the Seam with the rest of the refugees who left. He gives me a little shovels and asks if he can help. But this is something I need to do on my own. The day begins, and you can here things coming to life. Like the flowers, it would seem that Twelve will grow as well. 

I dig up as many plants as I can. I fill the wagon with them until there is no space left for them. These little plants are hearty, they will survive the move to different soil. 

She catches me planting them around her house. This wasn’t exactly how I wanted to announce my homecoming. I don’t miss how thin she looked. Or how worn. Or how defeated. My heart breaks because I can’t help but feel like I’ve abandoned her when she’s needed me most. If anything, she is like me. 

No family left. No reason to go on. 

But I had found a reason, hadn’t I? 

Had it been her all along?

If nothing else, I know that I came back for her. Whether it was to let her go or to not, I had to come back and see what was here for me. A life, one that I could be happy in? Or nothing at all. 

I want to be me again. I want to be the man who can see the beauty in a sunset. I want to bake with the same passion as she hunts with. I want to be the Peeta Mellark that Katniss had hoped would greet her with open arms in Thirteen. 

This is the only way I can truly stop being a pawn in their Games. I will make my own terms. And I started with these flowers. 

Without bothering to ask if it’s okay, I get to work. I plant them all around her house, glad for the good weather that will help them take root. If I remember anything about the little primrose plant, it is that they are hardy and can live in just about any soil. The day is relatively cool day, but the work still causes me to break a sweat. But it feels good, to do something other than pace around, wandering the halls and wishing for home. 

I didn't think about what this might do to her— only hoping that she would appreciate the gesture. But when her door opens, I turned. And I’m faced with a look of terror that I’m familiar with. I’ve seen it probably a hundred times, waking up next to her after a nightmare. I’m too blown back by her appearance to speak first. 

“You’re back.”

I give her a simple nod. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday.” I remember the message I’m to pass along. “By the way, he said to tell you that he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” I study her, taking in just how poorly the return home has been to her. How incredibly thin she is. How hollow and haunted her eyes look. When was the last time she showered? Or ate anything at all? Haymitch told me that Greasy Sae was helping to take care of her. But by the look of Katniss Everdeen, she wasn’t cooperating.  
My heart was breaking at the sight in front of me. 

But for some reason, she stood taller, pushing her hair back. If I wasn’t in shock, I might have grinned. “What are you doing?” My cheeks flush as I look over to the bushes. I’d never been into the woods before today. And now, I’m almost embarrassed to tell her. 

But I do anyways. “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her.” I take a moment, hoping she realizes what they are without having to be told. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” 

There is a moment of panic on her face once more before she relaxes, realizing what they are. I I hadn’t been watching her so intently, I probably would have missed it. But there is a flash of fire, one that I hadn’t seen since before the Quell. There is a slight nod before she slams the door, retreating back into her house. 

I hear odd noises coming from the house, but I don’t think about them. I finish the task at hand, planting them so that you’ll be able to see them from the large windows in the kitchen and living room. It’s early spring, meaning that once the roots take, it will be a few weeks before the blossoms open. Hopefully, Katniss with have the best reminder of her sister by the middle of summer. 

I'm back in my house, working in the kitchen, when I see her take off into the woods. And I can’t help but smile, glad to know that something has changed for her. What, I might not know, but it would appear that she’s decided to live. All the nervousness about coming home is suddenly worth it.

After that, we seem to fall into a routine. And each morning, on my way over with fresh bread, I look at the bushes, hoping to see them budding. When they don’t, I worry that I’ve done something wrong. 

The rest of the forest exploding into late spring colors sends me into a flashback, violently locked into my house to keep Katniss from seeing it. 

A few days later, knocking at the door with loud yelling pulls me out of bed. I don’t even grab a shirt, worried that something has gone wrong. That Snow is not dead. That the Capitol is coming back to get us. I toss the door open to find Katniss in tears. There is no hesitation when I pull her into my arms for the first time. 

The racing in my heart is momentarily calmed by the feel of her against me. The wetness of her face hits my chest and I’m brought back to being concerned. But I’m not even given a moment to ask before I’m pulled into the early morning light. Her hand tugs me around the corner of her house, my bare feet feeling the rough gravel underneath. 

I’m trying to figure out what’s going on before she pulls me to the smallest bush. All of the primrose have leaves, but none have shown any sign of budding. Until now. The tiny bush I didn’t think would make it is covered in potential flowers. Her laughter, thick with tears, brings tears of my own. She moves into my arm magnetically, and I hold her close once more. 

I didn’t think about all the exposed pink skin she had yet to see. Nor did I really focus on the fact that this was the first time we’d really touched since coming home. No, I’m focused on Katniss’s laughter. A sound I was sure would never escape her lips again. I hold her close, my soft laughter mixing in with hers. 

Summer comes, and we are able to enjoy the blooms in a much better place. Every morning, we bring out hot chocolate outside and sit among the flowers. Sometimes Haymitch joins us, or Sae. But for the most part, it’s just the two of us. We usually part ways early, so she can hunt and so I can bake. But all of our morning start together, enjoying every moment we can. 

The first Autumn is cold, and the flowers die almost as quickly as they came. That night is the first night Katniss lets me back into her bed. She does not want to face the nightmares that will come with the tears she’s already shed. I’m nervous at first, because I don’t want to have an episode around her. But the few times she wakes up, I am there to calm her back to sleep. From then on, we rarely sleep apart. 

This is the cycle we fall into. Every spring we anxiously await the first signs of blooming and dread their last petals. But with each year, the pain lessens. 

I didn't realize it until standing in front of my bakery, glancing down at the new homes that fill the square almost five years later. Each home has one of its own evening primrose bush. Everyone in Twelve remembers the little girl who meant something to everyone. Who died too young. I point this out to Katniss and while she spends the rest of the day quiet, I know that she appreciates the gesture. 

That night, while working on the memory book, I’m reminded of the question Dr. Aurelius used to ask. What is home to me? I look down at Katniss’s head on my shoulder, hair down and grown back since the fires. I glance over at Haymitch sitting across from us, with his flask in hand, describing the way that Chaff used play pranks with his stump of a hand. The primrose plants in full bloom in the background, reminding me of the little girl who we fought to change things for, who died to help bring that change. And I know what my answer is.

This.

I make a mental note to paint this for him, so he too can appreciate the peace we have found.


End file.
